Tuesday, June 5, 2007

I’m a Fucking Sweetheart

This is what I look like:

This is flattering; I can, and do, look pretty harsh much of the time, and I’ve had many a person cross the street rather than pass me on the sidewalk.

I have adapted to the general response I get, especially from people with children, by becoming a polite, over-courteous fucking sweetheart at coffee-shops and other varied public places...because, basically, I’ve developed a complex.

However, this morning my car battery died, leaving me to pace all-around the huge mall parking-lot that I had planted it in, waiting for CAA to come and help. In the hour and a half I waited in the sweating sun, literally FOURTEEN people dropped by to see if I needed a boost.

(It turns out that I did, in fact, need a boost, but I had gotten some bad advice from a taxi-driver who thought it was my starter; said cabbie was parked across the lot when CAA started my car up, and he took off as soon as it came to life.)

The folks that stopped to help were all women between the ages of 30 and 50...and though I wondered if a woman’s maternal nature superceded their possible discomfort as to my appearance, the point here is that they stopped.

Feeling all warm and fuzzy, I shook the CAA guy’s hand and pulled out into the parking-lot traffic, mentally retiring my "everyone thinks I’m creepy-looking" persona...until a sporty, SUV-type vehicle in front of me, bereft of signals or brake-lights, abruptly swung left, then manically shot into a spot on the right, forcing me to lock-up my brakes. Actually, for the sake of fairness, she less "shot into" the spot than she began to turn in, but seeing me, stopped...DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF ME.

She parked, glaring into me from her side-view mirror, and I stopped behind her; our windows rolled down simultaneously:

Me:[flicking my turn-signal on and off]

See how well this works?

Woman:
[SCREAMING!]

MAYBE IF YOU WEREN’T TRYING TO GET PAST ME...

Me:Why are you yelling? I’m right here.

Woman:[still screaming]

GO AWAY!!!

[panicked]

I HAVE A NEWBORN IN THE CAR!!!

Me:Then why are you pulling into a parking-spot at 40 kilometres an hour?

Woman:[still screaming]

Y...YOU’RE...WRONG! JUST GO!

Me:
[frowning]

What?

Woman:[frantic]

GO AWAY!

Me:
[more frowning]

Woman:
I’M...

[stops screaming]

...I’m calling the cops.

Me:
[pause; agreeable]

All right.

[I park my car in a spot three down from her; she frantically dials her cell-phone, glancing at me as I get out of my car]

Woman:
[loudly]

Hello, police? There’s a man here who won’t leave me alone...

[she looks at me, and I smile, waving at her; she turns away from me and the rest of her call is inaudible; she hangs up and looks back at me]

Why won’t you leave me alone?

Me:First off, YOU made the mistake; then, to compound matters, YOU screamed at me about it; then, topping off this wonderful experience, YOU called the cops.

[pause]

If I leave NOW, I’ll be driving around wondering if the police are going to pull me over for stalking or some other nonsense. If I STAY, I’ve got this guy here...

[I point to a Gentleman who was walking along a nearby sidewalk as I slammed on my brakes; he is also hanging around]

...to corroborate my story as to what actually happened.

Woman:[terrified, out of control screaming]

GO AWAY!!!!!!

Me:
I don’t think you understand: I can’t leave now; I am NOT getting pulled over by the cops because you can’t drive.

[pause]

So, I’ll wait over here, by my car, smoking a cigarette until the fuzz arrives.

[to Witness-Gentleman]

Do you mind hanging around for a couple of minutes?

Witness-Gentleman:
Not at all.

Me:Dude, you’re awesome.

Witness-Gentleman:[smiles; looks at Woman as though he’s about to explain something to her; Woman breaks out in tears; Gentleman thinks better of it and, shrugging, walks towards me]

You’re right not to leave; I heard her telling the cops that you were threatening her.

Me:Amazing.

Witness-Gentleman:Yeah.

[rolls his eyes]

Two cruisers showed up ten minutes later; one police officer talked to the Woman and the Witness-Gentleman, the other to me, standing between me and the other two while asking what the score was...though not in those words. I explained the scenario to him, and after conferring with his colleague, he went to talk to the Woman, who immediately threw an epic tantrum, getting out of her car, stomping her feet, pointing at me and calling me a "psycho", which was hilarious even to the other officer who came over to me smiling while this Woman wailed.

Cop:
It’s a good thing you and that guy hung around...she had your license plate written down.

Me:
Unreal.

[the cop looks over his shoulder; the Woman and the Witness-Gentleman are screaming at other]

Me:So, uh, can I jet?

Cop:[absent-mindedly, while watching his partner put the Woman back in her car]

Oh...yeah.

I looked at the Witness-Gentleman, who was yelling, "no, I don’t know him" at the Woman, who, apparently, thought we were somehow in cahoots; he threw me a respectful nod (down, not up), and I went on my way, contemplating what it is about my face, exactly, that elicits this kind of reaction...sure, it’s not usually this ridiculous, but this also wasn’t the worst it’s ever been.